When I left your house, I was happy. I was fucking happy. This should have set off warning bells, but it didn’t. I went home and I talked to my friends about you and I smiled like an idiot and gushed like a teenager.

I switched medications because I wanted to try having a wider range of emotions: I was getting tired of having only numb and number. Although I am coping better since starting this medication, I don’t have that overly medicated zombie-esque façade to which I become accustomed. Quite often it would go through my mind that perhaps this medication was not working.

I really, really hate crying. I will do pretty much anything to avoid crying. If I’m reading a book and it starts to feel like I might cry, I stop reading it. If it’s a TV show, I change the channel. If it’s a movie, I go to the washroom and stay there for like half an hour until I feel like it’s safe to return. For real.